The Best-Laid Plans
by victoria p
Summary: Movieverse; Scott and Rogue try to make Logan and Jean jealous; L/R, with hints of S/R


Title: The Best-Laid Plans  
Author: Victoria P. [vicpusateri@worldnet.att.net]  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything -- it all belongs to Marvel and/or Fox.   
Rating: R - language  
Summary: Scott and Rogue try to make Logan and Jean jealous; L/R, with hints of S/R  
Notes: I know very little about Scott's backstory, so I've sort of pieced together something reasonable. If you don't like Scott, you probably won't like this. Thanks to Pete, Meg, Jen and Dot, who put up with my Scott ramblings and made this a better story.  
  
The Best-Laid Plans  
  
1. If Things Were Different  
  
The first bar brawl I was ever personally involved in happened while I was with Scott. I know, I don't believe it either, but there it is. I suppose I should start before that, start at the moment that Scott became Scott instead of Mr. Summers. Or even before that, when he became Mr. Summers, instead of One-Eye or Scooter.  
  
So you know how Logan left and he gave me his dog tags, yada yada? Well, he was gone and I was upset -- it's not easy having fifteen years of someone's memories and thoughts dumped on you, and it's doubly difficult when you've already got sixty some-odd years of yet someone else rattling around in your head. And Logan and Erik aren't exactly choirboys, so I learned a lot of shit sixteen-year-old girls shouldn't. Hell, I know a lot of shit sixty-year-old grandmas probably shouldn't.  
  
Anyway, Logan up and left, and I was stuck with him in my head. I was young and impressionable and he was hot and he'd just saved my life -- twice. *Of course,* I had a thing for him. And he had to know it. But he ran, because that's what Logan does. Even though I asked him to stay.  
  
Those first few weeks were the worst, because I was always lusting after Jean, or, even more disturbingly, Professor Xavier. I was also a sore trial to poor Scott, growling at him, calling him "One-Eye" and generally being all Logan-y. But he's patient, and he's a good guy, so he didn't get too upset.  
  
And then one day, in class, we started reading _Madame Bovary_. Well, let me tell you, I just wanted to smack that Emma Bovary for her stupidity. But Scott went on and on about how amazing a book it is, and how Flaubert had chosen every word carefully and each sentence was crafted to be just so. If there's one thing I can appreciate -- and this is all Marie, because Erik's more interested in political screeds, and Logan, well, let's just say Logan's not reading Playboy for the articles -- it's a well-crafted sentence. Don't laugh. I want to be a writer, and maybe after I retire from the X-Men, I'll actually have time to get some of my stuff published.  
  
So I paid more attention, and I realized he was right. I still didn't like Emma, but it really is an amazingly well-written book. When it came time to write our essays, I wrote about creative ways for her to kill Rodolphe instead of herself. Didn't get an A on that one. In fact, I got asked to stay after class.  
  
"Rogue, I'd like to discuss your paper," Scott said and I knew I was in for it.  
  
"Okay," I said warily, wondering what was coming next. English was the one class I really loved, even if it was taught by my -- I mean, Logan's -- nemesis.  
  
"Do you really think eviscerating Rodolphe would have helped Emma's situation?" He was trying hard to be stern, but I could hear the laughter in his voice. I was actually kind of impressed, since I'd always thought he was humorless.  
  
"More than eating arsenic did," I replied. "That was just stupid."  
  
He sighed. "I'm not going to count this paper in your grade, Rogue. You completed the assignment, and it's well and creatively written, but I'm afraid it just doesn't examine the issues most central to the novel. So I'm going to offer you a deal. In addition to the next book we're reading, I want you to read _Wuthering Heights_ and write a paper on it. On whatever topic you choose, except eviscerating or otherwise maiming or killing the main characters." And I'd swear he mumbled, "Even if Cathy deserved it."  
  
One thing you have to realize about Scott is that he's a dyed-in-the-wool romantic. Oh, he covers it up with his Fearless Leader schtick, but when push comes to shove, he's right there with me on the great couples of all time and the One True Love of Buttercup and Westley. So though I didn't know it then, he was pulling me in with Brontë's masterpiece about the moors and the wild lovers who inhabited them. Of course, I was going to fall madly in love with Heathcliff, and of course, I was going to identify with Cathy -- even if she was a bitch. How could I not? Heathcliff's story struck me right where I lived. If Logan ever wanted to be in movies, he'd just have to get the Professor to finance a new version of _Wuthering Heights_. It's not like he'd even have to act to play Heathcliff.  
  
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Logan doesn't really show up again for a while. This part is about me and Scott and how we became friends.  
  
I agreed to read the book and write the paper. And, like he knew I would, I fell in love with Heathcliff. Since we weren't reading it in class, I couldn't really discuss it with Kitty and Jubilee. I ended up staying after class again, talking to Scott, or, Mr. Summers as I had finally started calling him. After _Wuthering Heights_ it was _Pride and Prejudice_ and then _The Great Gatsby_ and pretty soon, Scott and I had our own version of Oprah's book club going on.  
  
Logan came back around Christmas time, and he seemed a little freaked at how friendly Scott and I were, but since it was still pretty much a teacher-student relationship, no one else ever commented on it. Looking back, I realize it probably would have looked a little hinky to people who didn't know Scott was head-over-heels for Jean and I was still nursing an infatuation for Logan. After all, Scott's only about eight years older than I am, and Jean's about five years older than he is. Logan, of course, is older than God, and I'm getting ahead of myself again.  
  
Anyway, Logan was all, "How's it going, kid?" and I was just trying not to show how much I wanted him. How much I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at Jean. How much I wanted him to love me. And hanging around with Scott and discussing the great novels of the Western canon was not exactly the way to Logan's heart.  
  
It *was* a way to get his attention, though. It wasn't jealousy. Or, it wasn't the type of jealousy I was hoping for, but Logan *was* upset that I didn't spend every waking moment trailing around after him like a puppy. He would never admit it, but he dug my crush on him. It fed his manly pride. So to see me huddled in a corner of the dining room with Scott, discussing Henry James, just burned him up. And I loved every minute of it.  
  
I think Scott knew how I felt, but he was cool, because anything that annoyed Logan was okay with him -- just desserts for the way Logan leered at and flirted with Jean.  
  
It wouldn't surprise me if, early on, Logan thought about pushing me and Scott together, so he could have a shot at Jean. But two things stopped him: one, he knew how much Jean and Scott loved each other (it would be impossible not to know); and two, he cared for me. He loved me, even if it wasn't the type of romantic love I craved.   
  
You don't do for someone what Logan did for me -- all of it, from skewering himself to letting me suck out his healing power -- without caring for them on more than an impersonal level. At least, Logan didn't. I knew, because he was in my head. And it would have killed him to use me like that. Logan could pretty much beat the crap out of someone and then go for a beer without a second thought, but he was always gentle with me.  
  
Time passed and after a few months, Logan left again, but he always kept in touch when he went away, and he always came back. Eventually, I got over my crush.  
  
Okay, to be honest, I never got over my crush, I just learned to hide it better, even from him. And my feelings continued to deepen into something I figured was love. Sometimes I would talk to Scott about it, always metaphorically, of course. I'd talk about the moment Elizabeth realized she loved Mr. Darcy, or how Pip worshiped Estella, but really, I was just trying to figure out how I felt about Logan. I'm sure Scott knew that, and he tried to help me get over it. I know Scott only wants what's best for me, and he truly thought that Logan was *not* it.  
  
When I was nineteen, the birthday card I sent my mother came back unopened. Every year, in time for December 1, I made sure I sent my mother a card for her birthday, even though she'd stood by and let my father run me out of the house, and then never showed up for the court date when Professor Xavier petitioned to have me made his ward. I figured, she was my mom, and she should know I still loved her and was safe.  
  
But that year, the card came back with "deceased" written in my father's handwriting, and underneath that, "You may as well be dead too, Marie."  
  
The bastard hadn't even had the decency to let me know she'd died. I called my grandmother in Meridian, who wasn't too thrilled to hear from the mutant outcast, but she told me Momma had died that June.  
  
It's not exactly easy news to take, and I was sitting out in the greenhouse, crying, when Scott found me. Since I had handled mail call that day, no one else had seen the card, and he had gotten worried when I didn't show up for my session with him in the Danger Room.  
  
I wordlessly handed the envelope over and he put an arm around me and said, "Oh, Rogue, I'm so sorry." He's one of the few people here, aside from Logan, who isn't afraid to touch me, even though I wear more clothes than a Sherpa climbing Everest. Part of me wished it were Logan, but Logan wasn't back yet from wherever the hell he was, so Scott would have to do.  
  
He let me cry for a while and then he said, "My mom and dad died when I was eight. We were in a plane crash. Not a day goes by that I don't still miss them." He squeezed me a little closer and twined the fingers of his other hand around mine, his cheek resting on the top of my head, where my hair would protect him.  
  
He's a good hugger, and when he pulled back slightly to look at me, I found myself wondering, not for the first time, what he'd look like without the glasses or the visor he always wore.  
  
I still don't know what possessed me. It was totally inappropriate, but when we discussed it later, we decided that grief makes you do strange things.  
  
"Take your glasses off," I said.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I want to see what you look like without them."  
  
"It's not safe, Rogue." He sounded rattled, which was totally new. I'd never heard him sound anything but calm and assured, even under fire.  
  
"I trust you." He inhaled sharply at that. I raised my hands to his temples. "Please?"  
  
He took my hands, guided them to his glasses and removed the ruby lenses. His eyes were closed tightly and his lashes curled against the tops of his cheekbones; they were long and feminine and I was envious for a moment.  
  
"You're beautiful," I murmured, tracing his face with my gloved hands. As my fingers moved over his eyelids, I whispered, "Relax." His breathing was a little irregular and I wasn't sure if it was fear or desire. I'd always thought he was nice-looking, but so much of what I find attractive about a man is in his eyes, and that was the one thing no one ever got to see with Scott.  
  
Feeling bolder, and more than a little attracted myself, I brushed a thumb across his lips. His tongue came out of his mouth and flicked against my finger. Even through the cotton gloves, I felt its warmth and wetness. I gasped. Eyes still closed, his hand came up and, fractions of an inch from my face, mimicked the motion. "Scott," I whispered, calling him by his first name without mockery for the first time in our three years of acquaintance. My breath warmed his bare skin and he murmured, "Rogue," in that same hushed tone.  
  
We stayed that way for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, at most.  
  
"If things were different..." I asked, unable to finish the sentence, uncertain even where the thought had come from. Not Logan, I know that for sure.  
  
"If things were different," he said firmly, "I have no doubt you and I would be very happy together, Rogue. The man who finally wins your heart away from Logan is going to be very lucky."  
  
I pulled away, the spell broken by his mention of Logan. He never approved of my attachment, but I like to think he's finally come to understand it.  
  
You would think that such an intense moment would have made us uncomfortable around each other for a while, but it didn't. It just sealed what's become a rock-solid friendship that's survived some rough times. Because I trusted him and, more importantly to me, he trusted me.  
  
When you can kill with a single touch, having someone who trusts you not to hurt them means a lot. Though the guys at school flirt and tease and ask me out, I see how they flinch away from my touch. Except Bobby, and Bobby and I decided that us getting together would practically be incestuous. So the only men who aren't afraid to touch me are Logan and Scott. And Professor Xavier, of course, but I try not to think about him. That wakes up Erik, which makes none of us happy.  
  
I mooned over Scott for about a week, until Logan came home again. Even then, I managed to make sure Logan knew something had changed, that I would no longer snicker along as he baited and taunted Scott. He didn't like that, but he learned to deal with it.  
  
When I showed him the card and told him about my mother, I saw the pain flash in his eyes. He muttered curses about goddamn bigoted motherfuckers who better not ever cross his path. Which made me feel a little better.  
  
I know I said Scott and I weren't awkward after that little greenhouse moment, but I *was* uncomfortable around Jean for a few days, and both she and Logan picked up on that. No doubt they each attributed it to my feelings for him, never knowing I felt guilty for fantasizing about Scott.  
  
And from then on, that's what I called him.  
  
2. The Brawl  
  
A few months later, Scott and I took the Jaguar into town so it could be inspected. Logan's presence in my head had left me with some pretty detailed knowledge about a lot of things, cars being one of them. A love of fast, shiny objects is only one of the things that Scott and Logan have in common, and if they both weren't so intent on being the big alpha male, they'd probably be good friends. Actually, I think they are good friends in their way. It would just be easier if they weren't always comparing whose is bigger, if you know what I mean.  
  
Where was I? Oh yeah, taking the Jag into town to the mechanic. So we dropped the car off and Scott said, "You want to get some food?" It was about four o'clock in the afternoon.  
  
"Sure."  
  
There's not a whole lot going on in Salem Center. It's a dink town on the outskirts of White Plains, and it doesn't have many fancy restaurants. There was fast food or there was The Old Village Inn. The Old Village Inn isn't an inn, but it's been around forever. It's a bar and grill, and it serves the best damn hamburgers this side of the Georgia Diner.  
  
There was no choice, really. We went to the Inn and ordered two cheeseburger deluxes. We were regulars, and even though nobody talked about it, it's an open secret in town that Xavier's is a school for mutants, and that we lived there.  
  
We chatted about inconsequential things, like how the Rangers were once again not in the playoffs and would we have to wait another 54 years for a Cup (Scott was from up north, so it was natural he was a hockey fan; for me, it was just another facet of Logan I'd absorbed and made my own).  
  
The car wasn't ready when we had finished eating, so we went back to the Inn and started shooting pool.  
  
Scott has some sort of inborn understanding of geometry that allows him to be a master of the billiard table and I suck, even though I continually badgered Logan to teach me. I admit it, hitting the little white ball with the stick is the *last* thing on my mind when Logan puts his arms around me and growls, "Break 'em, Marie." But don't tell me you wouldn't be all quivery inside, too.  
  
Anyway, we're playing pool and Scott unbends enough to buy me a beer, so we're having a beer together. All of a sudden this asshole gets up from the bar and says, "We don't like your kind in here."  
  
Scott ignored him and made an incredible bank shot, sinking the three ball in the corner pocket and the eight ball in the opposite center pocket.  
  
"I said we don't like your kind in here," the asshole said, louder. He had three friends with him, and they got up off their stools and joined him.  
  
The bartender stepped in. "Their money's as good as yours, buddy."  
  
As defenses go, it wasn't one for the books, but he tried. I'll give him that.  
  
"Mutie-lover," the guy spat back, and his dumbass friends took up the chant.  
  
"We're not looking for any trouble," Scott said mildly, racking the balls again. And we weren't, but I was jonesing for it now. All the memories that had faded into haziness came back to me, and my knuckles itched and my blood raced in anticipation. We were gonna be kicking some ass, and my inner Logan was juiced.  
  
Scott doesn't growl or bluster or strut like Logan, but he can take care of business when he needs to. The first bigoted bastard took a swing at him and hit the ground so fast I didn't even get a chance to cheer. Then I didn't have time, because one of the asshole's friends shoved me.  
  
I responded by breaking the pool cue over his head and then kicking him in the nuts. Then I kicked him repeatedly in the kidneys when he fell to the floor, clutching his family jewels. Scott had taught me the techniques of tournament fighting and Logan had taught me the tricks of brawling. I called on both in the next few minutes, as all hell broke loose in the Old Village Inn. Everyone in the place joined in as fists, bottles and chairs were thrown.  
  
It was a fun little fight, and it would have been perfect except that one of the assholes managed to hit me with a chair, which left nasty bruises down the left side of my body for weeks. And as I went down, I slammed my face on the corner of a table, giving myself a nasty shiner.  
  
Scott saw me on the floor and, well, he would have done Logan proud at that moment. "Rogue!" he roared, and that was the end of it. He took out the last two guys, grabbed me, and we fled into the evening, just as the cops arrived.  
  
We stumbled across the street to the mechanic. "Rogue, are you all right?" Scott asked, concern evident in his voice.  
  
I couldn't see too well because my right eye was swelling and throbbing, and I hurt like hell from getting hit with a chair. But we had kicked ass and taken names, and I was excited. "That was so fucking cool!" I said.  
  
"Rogue!" He's always trying to clean up my language. I admit I used to be embarrassed about some of the stuff that came out of my mouth -- courtesy of Logan, of course -- but by that point I was over it. I reveled in my rep as a straight-talking, no-nonsense gal.  
  
"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that," I crowed, and he laughed. I knew he had, though he'd never cop to it.  
  
"I'd have enjoyed it more if you didn't look like you got hit with a chair," he replied. "Jean is going to be pissed."  
  
"You'll talk her around. You always do."  
  
He looked kind of smug at that, but I could have sworn he muttered, "Logan is going to kill me."  
  
And he was right.  
  
Logan was in the garage when we got home. He was dressed for riding his motorcycle: leather jacket, gloves and boots. I pulled my hair down over my face, gave Scott a conspiratory smile, and got out of the car.  
  
"Where the hell have you been? I was mountin' a search party. Figures One-Eye can't even get the damn car inspected without screwin' up."  
  
Scott frowned at him, put a hand on my back -- which was now hurting almost as much as my face -- and tried to walk us past him into the house. I kept my head down and murmured, "Hey."  
  
That was our mistake. If Scott had needled him back, or left me alone, Logan probably wouldn't have noticed anything was amiss. Or maybe he would have. I don't know. Those super senses of his make him pretty damn hard to trick. Or he could have just been annoyed that I was out all day with Scott and wasn't paying him any attention. You never know.  
  
"Marie, you wanna go for a ride on the bike?" he offered. I groaned inwardly. Why now of all days? Normally, I would have jumped at the chance to ride behind him, my legs hugging his hips and my arms wrapped around that incredible chest, but I couldn't. I was sore and I didn't want him to see my face.  
  
"I'd love to Logan, but can I take a rain check? I'm tired and I want to take a shower," I said softly, still not looking at him.  
  
"Marie, what's the matter?" he asked. He's a sharp cookie, my Logan is. He grabbed my chin in his gloved hand and raised my face. The leather was soft against my skin. He went pale. "What the hell happened to you?" he barked. He turned to Scott. "Christ, Summers, you can't fucking be trusted for five minutes. Who did this to you, Marie? I'll kill the bastard." He grabbed my left arm with his other hand.  
  
"You're hurting me," I said. He didn't apologize. Instead, he swung me up into his arms, and I didn't resist. It was another rare pleasure to be cradled against his body. "We got into a fight."  
  
"That's fucking obvious, Marie. What kind of army were you fighting that Fearless Leader here let you get beat on like this? Was he too busy getting pounded to protect you?"  
  
Scott said nothing.  
  
"He took care of three or four guys, Logan. It was almost as good as watching you fight," I said. Logan growled. "He got me out of there before the cops came. And anyway, I don't *need* protection. I was holding my own." I was still a little excited, and being in the arms of the man I love was making me giddy. "It was so fucking cool. We kicked their asses, before I got hit with that chair."  
  
"Language, Marie," he said automatically, before Scott could get it out. He's always telling me not to curse, and he's usually swearing like a drunken sailor when he does it. Hypocrite.   
  
I could tell he was torn between being proud of me and continuing to berate Scott for not protecting me. He settled for shooting a middle claw at Scott and muttering curses as he carried me up to my room.  
  
Once we were there, he placed me gently on the bed and removed my jacket. He brushed my hair back from my face and contemplated my black eye. "Ice," he said. "Be right back." He returned in a couple of minutes with an icepack and applied it gently to my eye. "Keep that there," he ordered, pressing it into my hand. Then he began unbuttoning my shirt.  
  
"Logan, what are you doing?" I asked, surprised, and strangely hopeful.  
  
"You got hit by a chair, Marie. I wanna see what kind of damage you took."  
  
I was a little disappointed, even though I knew he wasn't planning on stripping me and making love to me there and then. "Um, you do realize I'm a girl, right, Logan?"  
  
"What?" he asked absently, pulling the shirt off my left arm and moving the ice pack from my right hand to my left, so he could finish removing my shirt.  
  
"Maybe you seeing me in my underwear isn't, um, well," I stuttered, blushing. I have to say that while I'd imagined all sorts of scenarios where Logan undressed me, I hadn't planned on him treating me like a five-year-old while he did it. I sat there in my bra, feeling my heart race. I knew he could hear it, and it was embarrassing.  
  
"You got nothing I ain't seen before," he responded, totally uninterested in my nearly naked chest, turning me over to look at my back and side.  
  
"Gee, thanks." Embarrassment gave way to annoyance. I was nineteen years old; the least he could do was recognize I was female.  
  
So I'm lying on the bed on my stomach, icepack pressed to my eye, wearing nothing but my bra and my jeans. Logan ran his hands over my back and the feel of the soft leather just about drove me nuts. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched my bare skin, even through gloves, and the fact that it was Logan made it even better. I had a hard time stopping myself from blurting out how much I loved him and asking him why he didn't want me. But I managed it, biting my lip until it bled, just adding to my list of injuries.  
  
"This looks like it really hurts, kid. Maybe Jeannie can fix something up for you to put on it," he said, ignoring my sarcasm. It's amazing how he does that sometimes. He tugged at the waist of my jeans. "Musta been a big chair. The bruise goes all the way down--"  
  
I'd had enough. "You ain't takin' my pants off," I snapped.  
  
He had the nerve to laugh. "Just remember to say that to all the other guys trying to get into 'em. Especially One-Eye."  
  
I scrambled up onto my knees, facing him. I leaned forward and said, "Not everything is about sex, Logan. Scott and I are good friends." Suddenly, I noticed he was staring at my chest and I looked down. Oh, geez. I'd forgotten I was wearing only a bra. "Eyes up here, big fella," I barked, pointing to my face, and his eyes practically snapped to attention. I bit back a smart remark about him enjoying the view and continued my rant. "He's a sweet guy and a good friend. If you can't accept that, maybe you and I shouldn't be friends either." I wished his staring meant more than that his eyes were open, but I knew him well enough to know that it didn't.  
  
He was taken aback by my vehemence. "Whoa, Marie, calm down. I just don't want to see you get hurt. He's whipped on Jeannie, and nothin's gonna change that. You deserve someone who's gonna be whipped on you."  
  
"First I have to find someone who's not afraid of me," I said bitterly.  
  
He gathered me into his arms. "He's out there, kid. I'm sure of it. And if he hurts you, I'll kill him, slowly and painfully. Anyway, what does that matter? You'll always have me. And, apparently, Summers."  
  
I sniffed. If he only knew. "Yeah," was all I said, reveling in the feel of him against my skin.  
  
He took care of me that night, and everything went back to status quo between us, but I was annoyed by his refusal to see I'd grown up. I decided it was time to do something about that.  
  
3. The Thief  
  
So I gave in to Remy. Oh, I didn't sleep with him. I just got tired of not having any dates on Friday nights, of watching Jubilee bring home boys from college, of watching Kitty and Bobby spend every spare moment together when they were home on breaks, and especially of watching Logan watch Scott and Jean.  
  
Remy asked me out, as he did at least once a week, and for the first time in the year he'd been doing it, I said yes. His eyes widened and he looked slightly shocked. I knew he'd never expected me to say yes after all this time, that the weekly ask was simply a game for him, but he played it off, because he's Remy the Gambit, and that's what he does.  
  
He took me to a lovely French bistro in White Plains and we had a fabulous time. When we drove back to the mansion, he lowered the roof on the convertible, slipped an arm around my shoulders and screwed his courage to the sticking point. He kissed me through his handkerchief. It was my first kiss since I'd put David into a coma. I was nineteen. After that, we were pretty inseparable, though he wasn't as affectionate as you'd have expected. He was still afraid of me. In public he'd put an arm around me, or kiss my gloved hand, but when we were alone, it didn't go much further.  
  
And I can't blame him for that. Dating me was not like dating a normal girl, or even a "normal" mutant girl. But we had a lot of fun just hanging out, and that's basically all I was looking for. I'm sure he was getting sex somewhere, but I didn't ask and he didn't tell.  
  
Logan, of course, did not approve. He and I were sitting in the television room, watching some awful kung fu movie when I said, "What do you think of Remy?"  
  
"Gumbo?" he snorted. "He's a skirt-chaser and a thief, Marie. Stay away from him."  
  
I tried to be angry, though he was correct on both counts. "He's my boyfriend, Logan. We've been dating for three months. Which you'd *know* if you bothered to pay attention." The look on his face was priceless.  
  
"I don't approve."  
  
"You're not my father."  
  
"I promised to protect you, kid, and trust me, that boy's trouble. I know the type."  
  
"I'm almost twenty, Logan. I don't need you protecting me anymore. I need someone who wants me. Who wants to be with me--" He grabbed my arm, hard, and I stopped talking.  
  
His voice was low and rough. "You haven't slept with him, Marie. Tell me you haven't." Was he jealous? Or was he just worried? I couldn't tell.  
  
I laughed nervously, trying to sound nonchalant. Maybe he was starting to see me as a woman? I played a hunch and lied like a dog. "Not yet. But it could happen soon. That's what I wanted to ask you about. I mean, I know there are things I won't be able to do, but I was hoping you'd have some ideas... Logan, where you goin'?"  
  
"Don't even think about it, kid," he snapped, stalking out of the room.  
  
He came to my room early the next morning. "I'm headin' out for a while. Chuck's got another lead for me -- may take a few weeks." He paced the small room, awkwardly picking things up and putting them down again, as if he'd never seen them before.  
  
I pulled out the dog tags and said, "Do you want these back now?" I know it's pathetic, but I still wore them; they were an umbilical cord that tied us together, even with a continent between us. It was a ritual we enacted whenever he left. Every time, I hoped he'd say no. So far, he always had.  
  
He quirked a grin. "Nah, kid. They look better on you." A compliment? From Logan? Will wonders never cease?  
  
I smiled back. "Thanks. You be careful out there. "  
  
"Always am."  
  
I figured that was it. We'd done our usual goodbyes, which never included the word "goodbye," since I found it depressingly final. But he continued to pace the room, so I settled back on the bed, waiting.  
  
He paused at the window, his back to me. "Don't sleep with that jerk."  
  
In Logan's world, almost anybody who isn't him, me, Jean or Storm qualifies as "that jerk" so it took me a moment to realize -- "Remy?"  
  
"Or Scooter. Either one. Don't do it. You'll regret it."  
  
I rolled my eyes. Remy I could see him being concerned about, but Scott? He had Jean and would never look at another woman, our moment in the greenhouse notwithstanding. But jealousy is a funny thing. "Yes, dad."  
  
He stopped pacing and loomed over me. "I'm serious, Marie. I don't want you to get hurt, and that's what'll happen. I know. They're playing games with you. Hell, I practically invented the games they're playing. Just promise me you'll be careful."  
  
I got a little choked up at this un-Logan-like display of concern, but I tried to hide it, of course. He doesn't like emotional scenes. "I promise. You comin' back?"  
  
"I promise," he said, and leaned over and brushed his lips against my forehead, so quickly my skin didn't have time to do any damage.  
  
Then he was gone again.  
  
4. The Tramp  
  
I told Scott about that little conversation, which was probably where the seeds of The Plan were sown, though it was a long time before it came to fruition.  
  
Time passed, and I hung around with Remy, turning a blind eye to his tomcatting. I'm sure they all thought I was pathetic, but I really didn't care. Dating Remy had been a means to an end -- a way to get Logan to realize I was no longer a child -- and the results had not been favorable.  
  
Instead of falling at my feet, begging me to let him love me, he'd gone to Canada. And then, to add insult to injury, he brought *her* back with him.  
  
Daisy.  
  
I can't tell you how much I loathe that name, even now.  
  
I knew Logan wasn't living like a monk, even when he was at the mansion, and the first time I'd seen a woman sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night, it almost killed me. I spent the rest of that night huddled in the shower, crying. That was pretty much the only place no one could see or hear me.  
  
He tried to be discreet about it, which was a first. I don't know if that was for my sake or for Jean's. I do know he didn't give a damn what Scott or Professor Xavier thought.  
  
But Daisy -- she just waltzed right through the front door with him, in broad daylight. She was a redhead, of course. Bottled, though. I was sure of it. That color was as unnatural as my white streaks, though she came by it a lot less painfully. She moved into his room and no one said a word. You could hear them at night, which is why I began sleeping out in the greenhouse.  
  
If she had been nice, I suppose I could have learned to like her. I didn't hate Jean, and the only two men I ever seriously had feelings for both loved her. It was impossible to hate Jean, even though she was beautiful and smart and together, because she was so nice and caring. You knew she was sincere when she tried to help you, and you knew she couldn't help it if men fell at her feet. She didn't work at it; it just happened.  
  
But Daisy was unbearable. And I'm not the only one who thought so. She thought she was staying at a five-star hotel or something, because she was constantly asking people, especially me, to do things or fetch things for her. Maybe she picked up on the fact that Logan and I had a special relationship, though he sure didn't act like it the first few weeks she was around.  
  
I tried to be polite. My momma, God rest her, taught me good manners. I got Daisy her newspaper, lent her my nail polish remover and didn't say anything when she flirted outrageously with Remy whenever Logan's back was turned. I did warn Remy about messing around with her -- by that point our relationship had evolved into simple friendship, but I wasn't about to let Logan know that. I wasn't going to be unattached while he was flaunting his little California honey. Actress, my ass. She was a stripper, anyone could see it, and her boobs were as fake as her hair color and her perky turned-up nose. I still don't understand the appeal, but I guess she was a good fuck.  
  
But she pushed it. She pushed me, and anyone will tell you, I'm not one to piss off. There's still a lot of Logan in me, and probably more Magneto than is strictly healthy, too.  
  
It was a hot day in early September, and I had just wrestled with the Registrar's office at Sarah Lawrence, so I wasn't in the best of moods. Having to stay all covered up when it's scorching out is one of the many disadvantages of my mutation. But I deal with it and try to remain pleasant. If you've ever registered for classes at school, you know my store of patience was at a minimum that day.  
  
I was walking by Logan's room when the door opened and there she stood, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping from the shower.  
  
"Hey, girl, get me a towel," she demanded. She never called any of us by name, except for Scott and the Professor. Females were beneath her notice completely.  
  
"Get it yourself," I responded, continuing to walk up the hall to my room.  
  
I never expected her to follow me out into the hall and grab my arm. "You've got no manners, little girl."  
  
"Get the fuck off me," I snapped, tempted to show her how bad my manners could be.  
  
"Look, everyone else may buy your little sweetness and light routine, but I know trailer trash when I see it. I don't know how you got Logan to believe you're all innocent and pure. I see how you look at him. As if he'd ever be with someone like you." Someone he couldn't touch, she meant.  
  
"Do you *want* me to kick your ass?" I asked, incredulous. She didn't smell drunk. I didn't understand how someone could be so mean for no reason. After all, *she* was the one he got into bed with each night, not me.  
  
Scott came walking down the hall then, and she let me go.  
  
"Is there a problem, ladies?" he asked.  
  
I rolled my eyes at him. "What do you think?"  
  
Daisy turned on her simpering, "melt anything with a Y chromosome" act. "Rogue is being very rude to me, Scott. I think you should have a talk with her. I'm certainly going to let Logan know about it."  
  
"Rogue? Do you owe Daisy an apology?" He looked at me and I was afraid he'd bought her act. I sucked it up and apologized.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't get to kick your ass, Daisy. Maybe some other time."  
  
Scott bit his lip, then said, "Rogue, we'll talk in a moment. Daisy, I don't think it's appropriate for you to wander the halls in a towel. There are young children here."  
  
She pouted and flounced back into Logan's room.  
  
Scott and I hurried to my room, him trying not to laugh, me trying not to put my fist through the wall.  
  
"Who the fuck does she think she is, talking to me like that?" I exploded, throwing myself down on the bed.  
  
He was laughing so hard he could barely speak. "That was priceless, Rogue. 'I'm sorry I didn't get to kick your ass.' I guess Logan's still in there, huh?"  
  
I growled in response. "He better not believe her over me. I'll fucking kill him."  
  
He didn't even bother to comment on my language. "You know she's only a passing fancy."  
  
"I know, but still... It's because she has red hair."  
  
He stiffened at that. He was afraid that Logan might yet steal Jean from him, though I don't think Logan had made an effort in that direction in months -- years, even. Honestly, I don't think Logan ever made a serious effort to get Jean away from Scott. I knew how he felt about her -- he lusted after her, and he thought she was a great person, but the feelings I'd picked up from him weren't the "deep and abiding love" type. I sometimes wondered if Logan were capable of that type of devotion. I think he sometimes wondered it, too.  
  
But the wedding kept getting postponed by one crisis or another, and Scott was really insecure about it sometimes. I tried to convince him that Jean was as crazy about him as he was about her, but it was hard when she was so beautiful and so flirtatious with Logan. I used to wonder if she knew how seriously Scott took their little game.  
  
He sat down next to me on the bed and took my hand. "You're going to have to get over him at some point, Rogue. There are dozens of guys who'd go out with you if you'd give them a chance."  
  
I was angry and unwilling to listen to the same old bullshit. "Where, Scott? Where are they all? Remy -- bird-dogging Remy, who can't keep it in his pants -- didn't even try to get to second base with me. And don't say I'll meet guys at school. At school I'm just a freak who wears a lot of clothes. They don't bother me and I don't bother them, and it works out just fine.  
  
"You're with Jean, Logan's not interested, and Professor Xavier is like my father."  
  
He had no response, so he did what people always do when they're trying to comfort me. He hugged me and stroked my hair.  
  
Logan burst in then. He was taken aback by what he saw, because instead of saying whatever he came into the room to say, he just stood there, mouth open. I have to say, we played it cool. No springing apart like we were guilty or anything. We just looked at him, a little surprised ourselves.  
  
He recovered quickly. "What the hell is going on in here?" His hands were fisted and he looked like he wanted to extend his claws. I hoped he wasn't that pissed off at me. He'd *never* been that pissed off at me, and that could mean only one thing -- he was in love with Daisy.  
  
My fears were quickly laid to rest. "Does Jean know you're cuddling with Marie?" Whew. He was angry with Scott, not me.  
  
Scott started to say something, but I cut him off. "What's it to you, Logan? You're so busy shagging that tramp that you can't be bothered with the rest of us. Well, let's get something straight here. You tell your little fuckbuddy that I'm not the maid, my name is not 'Hey, you' or 'Girl', and if she wants a towel, she can damn well get off her ass and get it herself. I don't have to put up with her shit, Logan, and I won't."  
  
I didn't think it was possible for him to look any more surprised, but he managed it.  
  
"Marie," he began, but then Daisy appeared and started her pouting routine. I could have told her that was exactly the *wrong* approach to take with him, but why give inside information to the enemy?  
  
"Logan, honey, your little friend threatened me. All I asked her to do was get me a towel."  
  
"Marie is not a maid, Daisy. You shouldn't treat her like one," Logan said, using his patient and slightly amused tone, the one that he saves for the really young kids at the school. I could go into a big digression about how the little kids love to roughhouse with Logan, and how much he enjoys it, but that might ruin his reputation as a badass, so I won't.  
  
It was all I could do not to cheer. I suppose that was the first time he'd taken someone else's side against her, because suddenly that pretty face turned ugly. It was only for a moment. The pout was back almost instantly, and I don't think anyone else saw it. But I knew it was going to be war, and I was ready.  
  
My strategy was to hide until she went away. Cowardly, I know, but I couldn't bear the thought of Logan turning on me because of her. So, I kept even more to myself than usual, spending whatever free time I had repotting plants in the greenhouse and winterizing the garden.  
  
I had just finished wrapping the fig trees when she appeared. Being hot, sweaty and covered in dirt is not exactly how I wanted to meet my rival, but I was too damn tired to care. I wanted to have it out with her, and I figured if she was going to start trouble, I was going to end it.  
  
"Marie," she said.  
  
"My name's Rogue," I interrupted. No one calls me Marie but Logan. Certainly not that trollop.  
  
She leaned in close and spoke softly. "Whatever. I know you think you got Logan wrapped around your little gloved finger, but if you think I'm letting you take him away from me, you got another think coming."  
  
"I don't think he's yours to give or take," I replied.  
  
She went on as if I hadn't spoken, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You walk around shaking your little ass and talking in that sweet southern accent, teasing all the men around here. But none of them will ever touch you. It doesn't surprise me you're a mutant -- your parents were probably brother and sister. Everybody knows you southerners are a bunch of inbreds."  
  
It was a purely instinctual reaction. I growled and launched myself at her. Would have gotten her, too, but suddenly Logan was there, holding me back.  
  
"See, Logan, I told you she was going to attack me," she said in the frightened little girl voice that was such a potent weapon in her arsenal.  
  
"Lemme go, Logan, I'm gonna kill her." I struggled within his iron grasp.  
  
"She ain't worth it, Marie. Daisy, get your ass outta here in the next fifteen minutes or I'm throwin' you out." She hadn't counted on, or didn't know about, his acute hearing. The man can hear a snowflake hit the ground in a blizzard; he'd surely heard the cruel remarks she'd used to provoke me.  
  
"Can I hit her, Logan? Please?"  
  
He laughed. "I'd let you, darlin', but you'd hurt her and then we'd be stuck with her 'til she got better."  
  
"Hmph."  
  
I got over not being allowed to beat the tar out of Daisy quickly, though, because Logan was true to his word. When she took longer than fifteen minutes to pack, begging and pleading with him to let her stay (was he really that good in bed, I wondered. And would I ever find out?), he picked up her stuff and tossed it out the window. He was reaching for her when Jean and Scott arrived.  
  
"What's going on here?" Scott demanded.  
  
"Daisy's leaving," I smirked.  
  
"That bitch tried to kill me," Daisy cried, throwing herself at Scott. Jean frowned.  
  
"She was mean to Marie," Logan said. He looked at me. "I should have let you hit her, kid." It was as close to an apology as I was going to get, but it was enough.  
  
Scott's mouth tightened. He stepped back from her. "I'll call you a cab."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Be glad I'm not making you walk to the train station." His voice was cold. Jean looked surprised as he walked out. Daisy trailed after him, cursing and complaining loudly, her sweet façade shattered.  
  
"*What* is going on?" Jean asked.  
  
"She was mean to Marie," Logan repeated. He turned back to me. "I wish you'd told me sooner, kid. I never would have kept her around. She was boring as hell but..." his voice died out, and he turned a little red. I know how he was going to finish that sentence, and so did Jean, I'm sure. She's a telepath, after all.  
  
5. The Plan  
  
For the next few weeks, Logan was super-nice to me, teaching me to drive his bike, taking me to movies and stuff. It was awesome. But he still treated me like a kid. I tried to pretend he was my boyfriend, but he'd always puncture the fantasy, either by talking to me like I was twelve, or by flirting with other women while we were out.  
  
I know it's just an instinctual thing with him, but still, it cuts like a knife when you're standing next to the man you love, and women practically throw themselves at him. What makes it even worse is how they all dismiss you as no competition. Especially when one look from him keeps all the other men away from you.  
  
That was one of the selling points of The Plan -- it would involve the one man who wouldn't back down from him.  
  
I have to start at the beginning with The Plan.  
  
There was a hot new band called Crisis that was doing a fundraiser for Amnesty International. Scott, political activist that he is, offered to take me. I wasn't technically old enough to go to bars yet, but they'd opened it up to the under-twenty-one crowd since it was "a good cause."  
  
Scott is totally into alternative rock. You know, that stuff that was popular back in the early '90s -- Nirvana and Pearl Jam, etc. Crisis was that type of band, so of course, he wanted to see them live. I did, too. And since all of my friends were away at school, with the exception of Remy, who wouldn't be caught dead at anything that wasn't a hip-hop concert, there was no one to go with me. Jean was in DC with the professor, so Scott had no one to go with, either. It was only natural we'd end up going together.  
  
The concert was excellent and Scott, being cooler than most people (read: Logan) give him credit for, allowed me to have a couple of beers. He always did. It was our little secret. Well, until that night it was.  
  
The show was over and we were hanging around, playing pool in the back room. Scott was, anyway. I was bent over the jukebox. Having other people in your head does weird things to your musical taste, as it does to every other portion of your personality. Logan wanted to hear Janis Joplin or Johnny Cash. Erik wanted the Beatles. I just wanted something I could dance to. I'd gotten my groove on during the show, and didn't want the fun to stop.  
  
I punched in the numbers for some old dance hits and straightened up. And found myself staring into the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen. He had blond hair and he looked like a ski instructor. "Anything good on there?" he asked.  
  
I told myself to calm down. I spoke to guys all the time at school. I had guys in my *head* for Christ's sake. "Not much. A lot of old stuff."  
  
"That's cool," he said. "I'm Brian." He held a hand out.  
  
"Rogue." I shook his hand. He didn't let mine go. His thumb made circles on my palm.  
  
"Cool name. And these gloves are very... sexy." His eyes held mine and I remember thinking, I can't believe I'm going to let this guy pick me up with such lame lines. But when most men are scared of you, or the company you keep, lame lines start to sound good.  
  
I looked over at Scott, who grinned and nodded slightly before returning his attention to his game. I'm willing to bet he winked, though I couldn't tell.  
  
A dance beat pulsed loudly through the bar and Brian swung me around. He was a decent dancer, and he didn't do the white man's overbite, which is a definite plus. And he was cute. The beer had gone to my head and I was feeling sexy and wild. It doesn't get any better, right?  
  
I can take care of myself, and I know Scott was keeping an eye out -- no pun intended -- so I wasn't really worried about Brian getting fresh. We danced for a good hour, at least.  
  
Then Scott came over. "It's time to go, Rogue," he said, putting a hand on my arm.  
  
I smiled at Brian. "I had a lot of fun."  
  
He looked from me to Scott, and back again. "Is he your boyfriend?"  
  
"No, just a good friend. And my ride home."  
  
Brian handed me a business card. "Here's my number. Give me a call the next time you need a ride home." He walked away.  
  
"He did *not* just say that," Scott said. "Even I could come up with better lines than that."  
  
"Yeah, and you're a dork," I agreed.  
  
"Hey!" he said, punching my arm playfully. "None of that or I won't drive you home."  
  
"That's all right. I'll just call Brian." We both burst into laughter. "You haven't danced all night," I said after we calmed down. "Even during the show."  
  
"Two left feet," he said solemnly.  
  
"Oh, no, you're not getting out of it that easily, Summers," I replied, taking his hand.  
  
I honestly didn't know the next song was going to be "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye. My songs had finished a long time ago. And I certainly didn't expect to put on a dirty dancing exhibition with *Scott*, of all people. But that's what happened.  
  
We started moving together, bodies in sync. His hands were on my hips, one of his legs was between mine, and he was whispering stuff I couldn't hear into my ear. I almost forgot that I was Rogue and that I was untouchable. It felt really good. I closed my eyes and savored the moment, running my hands through his hair.  
  
I had one of those flashes where I hated Jean for having everything I didn't.  
  
And then a hand grabbed me and a familiar voice snarled, "If you two are done makin' a spectacle of yourselves, I think it's time to go home."  
  
My eyes snapped open to see Logan looking fiercer than usual. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he didn't like me dancing with Scott. He'd been there a while. I could tell by the number of shot glasses lined up in front of his now-empty barstool.  
"Marie, you're riding with me," he said, pulling me along as he walked out. A wide path through the crowd appeared before him. People usually get out of Logan's way, but that night he was looking particularly Wolverine-y, and they couldn't move fast enough. Scott trailed behind, looking thoughtful.  
  
We rode back to the mansion in silence. There's not a lot of talking to be done when you're speeding along at seventy miles an hour on a motorcycle. But that's okay. I enjoyed it anyway.  
  
We got home way before Scott, and Logan didn't let me go until he'd deposited me in my room.  
  
"Scooter lets you drink?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"A beer or two. Sometimes I have a taste for whiskey, but he draws the line at that."  
  
"When you're twenty-one, Marie," was all he said. I knew he felt bad about what the stuff I'd absorbed from him had done to me. I don't think he realized how I'd come to terms with it and learned to integrate the best parts of him -- and Erik, too -- into myself. He didn't give me much time to think. "What the hell were you two doin'?"  
  
"Dancing, duh."  
  
He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "You were humping his leg, Marie."  
  
I wrinkled my nose at his choice of words. "Are you angry?" I asked, placing a hand on his arm.  
  
He gave a sharp bark that could have been laughter, but there was no mirth in it. "No. I'm thrilled to see you throwing yourself at a man who's in love with another woman. A friend of yours, as a matter of fact." The sarcasm was almost tangible.  
  
"It's no different than you sniffing around Jean all these years," I snapped back, stung. "Except for you, Scott's the only one who's not afraid to touch me. You don't know what that's like, so don't you dare judge me."  
  
His face softened for a moment, but then he hauled me up off the bed, his eyes dark with some emotion I couldn't identify. Anger, yes, and possibly pain, but also -- desire? Whatever it was, it made my heart beat faster and my breath catch in my throat.  
  
"Shouldn't I be enough?" he asked harshly. He leaned in and, maybe I'm crazy, I could have sworn he was going to kiss me. But, of course, that's impossible. He shook himself and released me. I dropped back onto the bed, surprised.  
  
"Get some sleep, kid." Back to big brother Logan. I sighed and he left.  
  
I had a lot to think about. Logan obviously thought I was his personal property. Well, I was going to show him. That night I learned that men *did* find me attractive, and that fact *did* make Logan jealous. And not in a family way. It was a small step, but a significant one. A good one.  
  
***  
  
The Plan didn't go anywhere for a while. The holidays passed and we entered the depths of winter. Then it was my birthday.  
  
I turned twenty and everyone acted like it was this huge important event. "Oh, you're not a teenager anymore, Rogue."  
  
Big fucking deal.  
  
I hadn't been a teenager since the night on top of the Statue of Liberty, when Magneto hurt me and Logan healed me. It's hard to be young when you've got old memories and nightmares in your head.  
  
It was a good day, though. Only one thing marred my happiness -- Logan wasn't there.  
  
"He didn't even call," I complained to Scott, who listened with less than perfect grace. He was angry, too. "He didn't even send a fucking postcard. I know," I said, before he could, "language. But seriously, how busy can he be? He's probably drinking and brawling and screwing around." I regret saying that, now that I know what was really going on. But I was angry and hurt and the people who knew what had happened didn't think to clue me in, not even Scott. "Unless -- you don't think he's hurt, do you?" I had sudden, horrible visions of Logan's mangled body in the snow, too damaged to heal itself.  
  
"He's all right," Scott said tightly.  
  
I glared at him. "And you know this how?"  
  
He looked uncomfortable. "I, he, he wrote to Jean. I found the letter."  
  
"He had the time to write to Jean but he couldn't be bothered to send me a freakin' birthday card? If that don't beat all," I fumed. "What did it say?"  
  
"I didn't read it," he snapped back. "It was obviously personal."  
  
My anger was rapidly giving way to pain. Tears welled up in my eyes. The full implications of what he'd said hit me. "You *found* the letter?"  
  
He couldn't mask the bitterness in his voice. "Yes. Apparently my fiancée doesn't tell me everything."  
  
"Oh, Scott," I began, wanting to stop the pain -- his and mine. "We're probably jumping to conclusions. Making mountains out of molehills."  
  
"Tempests in teacups?"  
  
I tried to smile, but it was a weak effort. "Jean loves you. She'd never do anything to hurt you."  
  
His return smile was grim. "She already has. How would she feel if I behaved with some woman the way she does... with... him..."  
  
"What is it, Scott?"  
  
"You. And I." Even while plotting, he was grammatically correct.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"We'll act like they do. Give them a taste of their own medicine, as it were."  
  
I'd never seen him like this. He was angry and reckless, at least by Scott-standards. I was doubtful. "I don't know, Scott. Someone could get hurt." Like me, when I lost him, Jean and Logan if things went sour.  
  
He waved my objections away. "Jean is a telepath. She'll know we're not serious. After a couple of days, anyway."  
  
I pointed out the other flaw in his idea. "Logan's not even here."  
  
"We'll wait until he gets back. The timing's not really that important to the plot," Scott said. "I just want Jean to know how it feels. Logan's reaction is only secondary anyway." Right, because Logan didn't love me like that.  
  
I was sure he'd cool down in the morning, so I said, "Sure, Scott. Whatever you want." I never expected him to actually go through with it.  
  
***  
  
Logan did come back about a week later, looking pale and serious. Something was up and he wasn't sharing. At least, not with me. I'm sure the Professor got a full report.  
  
Scott came to my room early a couple of days later.  
  
"Rise and shine, Rogue. Are you ready?" he asked. He was disgustingly cheerful for six am.  
  
I am not a morning person. I growled.  
  
He laughed. "Today we begin The Plan." The way he said it, you could tell it was capitalized.  
  
I thought he'd given up on that, forgotten it. "I don't know, Scott," I said, after dragging myself out of bed and into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I can't function that early without caffeine. "I mean, do you really think anyone would take the idea of you and me seriously?" I figured I'd save the "we're all going to regret this" speech for my last resort. You know, keep the heavy artillery in reserve until necessary.  
  
"'Anyone' doesn't have to -- Jean and Logan do. Logan can't even stand to have me look at you, and if he believes it, Jean will pick up on that. Trust me, it will work. I can shield my thoughts from her for short periods of time. Come on, Rogue, do it for me?" He took my hand and cocked his head, lower lip jutting out ever so slightly. You'd think that a man whose eyes were always hidden couldn't give you the soulful puppy-dog look. You'd be wrong. He was pretty damn irresistible, and considering some of the thoughts I occasionally had about him, I wasn't able to resist.  
  
I sighed, letting my reluctance show. "Okay, Scott, but only for you would I do this. And you owe me big-time."  
  
I couldn't see his eyes shift, but I had the feeling he was looking beyond me now. Someone -- it had to be Jean because Logan would have said something already -- was in the doorway behind me. "Oh, I can think of a few ways to pay you back," he murmured, kissing my hand. Shit, he was fast. And good.  
  
"Good morning, Scott. Rogue," Jean said, walking into the kitchen. "You're up early for a Saturday."  
  
"We're going riding today," he announced. "I wanted to get an early start."  
  
"Oh." She sounded nonplussed. "I thought we were going shopping."  
  
"Last night you told me you didn't need me. Remember?"  
  
"Oh. Right. Yes. Girl stuff. Ororo and I are going out. I just, I didn't expect you to make plans so quickly."  
  
He grinned. "I want to take advantage of Rogue's free time. Once Logan wakes up you know none of us gets to hang out with her."  
  
I blinked. Logan hadn't spared three words for me since he'd been back. Mainly he'd stayed in his room or been closeted in Xavier's office. Always signs of trouble.  
  
Jean looked a little taken aback, too, but then she smiled and said, "Okay, you two. Be careful and don't stay out too long. It's supposed to be a cold one today."  
  
She didn't sound at all like a woman concerned her fiancée was going out with another woman. Why would she? She was Jean Grey and men fell before her. I was Rogue, mutant among mutants, who couldn't be touched. I was a little angry at being dismissed so casually, which made me more willing to go along with Scott.  
  
I got up from the table and flipped my hair over my shoulder, the way I'd seen her do it a million times. I smiled my best smile. "I'll be down in a few minutes, Scott. Try not to miss me."  
  
He grinned again. "I'll be waiting with bated breath."  
  
I hurried up to my room, thinking we were really laying it on thick. How could she not notice? But if she had, she wasn't saying.  
  
We continued that pattern for the next few days. I got quite an education in flirtation from Scott.  
  
You'd think I'd know all that stuff, that I'd have had all the girl-talk with Kitty and Jubilee that I could handle, but I didn't. See, they figured since I had Logan in my head, and had dated Gambit, I was so far beyond them where boys were concerned that they never gave me any advice.   
  
What they didn't realize was that all I knew from Logan was how to be all growly-prowly and how to make a woman scream. Sure, I knew what he liked sexually, but I had no idea how to get to the point where I could use any of it on him. As for Remy, I didn't have to be anything but untouchable to get him to want me. He was in it for the chase -- once he had me on his arm, he never did anything about it. And Erik's idea of seduction was a chess game and a nice chardonnay -- not exactly the way to Logan's heart.  
  
But Scott -- man, he must have either been a lady-killer before he met Jean or he put a lot of thought into The Plan -- because he was so flirtatious and sweet to me that if I hadn't known better, I'd probably have fallen for him, Logan notwithstanding.  
  
Speaking of whom, he missed the first few displays we put on. One thing I hadn't thought of, though I'm sure Scott had -- he's not the leader of the X-Men for nothing -- was how rumors spread. He and I had been close the past couple of years, but now we were inseparable. Of course, once we were alone together, we didn't do much but plot our next display of affection, or discuss the latest books we were reading, or whatever writing project I was working on at the time.  
  
And Logan's not one for gossip, really. So it took a few days to percolate through the school and come to his attention that his pet had found a new best friend.  
  
But he didn't act. He just watched, a strange look in his eye that I couldn't place. He started leaving early in the morning and coming home late. Not exactly the effect I'd hoped we'd have on him, but understandable, in retrospect. He was trying not to interfere. I know that. He thought I'd made a choice -- a bad choice -- but he didn't want to lecture me after what I'd said the night of the concert. I wondered how long he could hold out before he said something. Scott and I actually had a bet. He said three days, I said a week.  
  
Jean, meanwhile, got more and more uptight, and spent most of her time down in the lab. Whenever Logan was around, she made sure to flirt with him, but that only made Scott more determined to stick to The Plan. I was starting to get a bad feeling, but he's a stubborn man, as stubborn in his own way as Logan, and once he gets an idea in his head, he runs with it. I didn't have enough pull with him to stop it.  
  
6. Fruition  
  
I could tell that things were reaching a breaking point about a week after we put The Plan into effect. That's all -- a week. Seven measly days of Scott paying more attention to me than to Jean. Who knows how long it would have gone on, though, if I hadn't gotten the letter from _The Spoon River Anthology_.  
  
I don't get a lot of mail, especially when Logan's home. When I do, it's usually bad news. But this, this was amazing. I hadn't told anyone -- not even Scott, and certainly not Logan -- but I'd submitted four of my poems to the _Anthology_ and the letter was notice that they'd accepted one of them. It was the biggest thrill I'd had in a long while. I can't even describe how elated I was.  
  
After reading and rereading the letter, I rushed to Logan's room to share the news.  
  
He wasn't there. So I flopped down on the bed, picked up one of his boring World War II books and settled in to wait for him. The book wasn't as dull as I'd expected, and I was really into it when there was a knock at the door. I jumped off the bed, startled, and then decided, what the hell? I'm always in and out of Logan's room -- this time was no different.  
  
I opened the door and Jean stood there. "He's not here," I said, before she could say anything.  
  
She took in the rumpled bed and the book in my hand and the envelope I was using to mark my place. "You got mail," she said.  
  
I shrugged. "It happens occasionally."  
  
"Anything you feel like sharing?"  
  
I was more interested in what she was doing knocking on Logan's door. But I couldn't contain my excitement. "One of my poems is going to be published."  
  
Her face lit up. "Rogue, that's wonderful." And I knew she meant it. That's part of her appeal -- she's never phony. She gave me a big hug. "Have you told Scott yet? He'll be so proud."  
  
I smiled. "He was in class and then," I held up the book, "I got sidetracked."  
  
"Logan will be proud, too," she assured me. "He was very upset about missing your birthday."  
  
"Coulda fooled me." I'd like to think I succeeded at not sounding petulant, but I'm sure I didn't.  
  
"He was planning to be here, but he got held up," she went on as if I hadn't spoken. People do that to me a lot. "It was supposed to be a big surprise. That's why I didn't say anything when I got the letter..." The look on my face stopped her. "Rogue, what's wrong? You look like you're going to be sick."  
  
"The letter that you didn't show to Scott?" I croaked, my voice suddenly not working.  
  
"The what?"  
  
"You got a letter from Logan and you kept it a secret. But Scott found it and--" now it was my turn to stop. I'd already said too much. Even without trying I'm sure she could read my mind at that point.  
  
"That's what this little game you two have been playing is all about?" she asked. She sounded annoyed, but not really angry.  
  
"I, he, we," I stuttered. Way to go, Rogue. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," I said lamely, even though I'd never managed to convince myself it was a good idea.  
  
She tapped a finger against her lips. "Turnabout is fair play, I suppose," she said finally, but I didn't think she meant she approved of The Plan. I was wrong. "Don't stop doing what you're doing," she continued. "I think it's working."  
  
"What? Working?" I asked. A rocket scientist you're not, I told myself. Good thing I was studying literature.  
  
"Your plan to bring Logan around. I think it's working." She thought *Logan* was the target of The Plan?  
  
"You think Logan is--" I stopped again. I couldn't tell her Scott was plotting to make her jealous.  
  
She nodded, misinterpreting my abrupt pause. She really wasn't much of a telepath, though I would never tell her that. Or she was very scrupulous in using her gift, because she got stuff wrong fairly often where I was concerned. "He can't stand to watch the two of you. He's complained to me more than a few times." She laughed. "Oh, yeah, this should be interesting." And she left. I never did find out why she was at Logan's door. I don't suppose it matters now.  
  
I tried to get reinvested in the Allies' plans for D-Day, but Jean had given me a lot to think about. Scott was smart, but he wasn't that smart. I knew him, knew that he was serious about being upset at Jean's behavior with Logan. And I knew he didn't think Logan was right for me as a lover. He'd told me that more times than I could count. So I couldn't believe he'd thought this whole thing up as some elaborate plot to bring me and Logan together.  
  
The thoughts whirled around my brain, and I tried to relax and calm my mind. I fell into a restless sleep. I dreamt of Allied soldiers storming the Statue of Liberty to rescue me, and suddenly Logan was there, as he had been in real life. He kissed the top of my head and whispered, "I love you, Marie."  
  
"I love you, too," I murmured.  
  
I don't know if I spoke out loud, but something woke me up, because my eyes popped open and there was Logan, taking his jackets off and unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
"Did you say something?" I asked, praying furiously that I hadn't said anything incriminating.  
  
He had an odd look on his face when he turned around. A look I'd noticed he'd been wearing a lot lately. "No, no," he said quickly. "Did you?" Which was weird, because if I'd spoken, he'd surely have heard me.  
  
"No." There was an awkward silence, which was also strange. He's not much of a talker, so silences were par for the course between us. Finally I said, "So whatcha doin'? Haven't seen you around much."  
  
"Maybe if you stopped staring at the One-Eyed Wonderboy, you would," he snapped. Ooh, maybe Jean was right.  
  
"Scott's my friend," I said, pouting a little.  
  
"Is that what you call it?" he asked, finally pulling off the shirt and turning his back to me as he went into the bathroom. I got an eyeful of his back. Have I mentioned how much I love his back? When God created backs, he must have had Logan in mind.  
  
I had every line and curve memorized, had traced them with my eyes more times than I could count in the years that I've known him, but something was different this time.  
  
There was a series of thin white lines that looked like scars extending from his shoulder blades down to his waist. Except that Logan doesn't scar. Unless something really traumatic happens, like having his healing power sucked out of him after he skewers himself to save me. And even that had healed up completely, leaving no evidence that he'd ever been wounded.  
  
I was off the bed in a flash. "My God, Logan, what happened?" I asked, reaching out to touch him.  
  
He shifted away, trying to hide his back. "Nothing, kid."  
  
"Don't you 'nothing' me!" I cried, grabbing his arm and turning him. Okay, he turned on his own -- I could never force him to move if he didn't want to. I looked at the marks on his back. "How -- what -- who did this to you?" He looked back at me over his shoulder.  
  
We stared at each other for a full minute. It seemed longer, but probably wasn't. Finally he said, "Sabretooth and Mystique. They caught me off-guard. Poisoned me. I had to wait 'til the poison wore off."  
  
"Oh, God, Logan," I whispered, tracing my hands over the scars that were fading even as we discussed them. He stiffened when I touched him, something he'd never done before. "Does it still hurt?"  
  
He turned around to face me fully. "No, kid. It just itches a lot. Jean gave me some lotion to put on--" he stopped and looked as if something had just occurred to him.  
  
We were on the same wavelength, I'm almost sure of it. "I could do that for you," I said, proud that my voice didn't tremble.  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea, Marie."  
  
"Why not?" I challenged, brushing past him into the bathroom. I wasn't going to give up a chance to run my hands -- even in gloves -- over that glorious back. "That way you can be sure it goes all over and you don't risk reopening any of the wounds by twisting around." Talk about your specious logic.  
  
Amazingly enough, it worked. He grumbled, "You'll be the death of me, yet, kid," but he followed me into the bathroom and pulled something out of the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. He was about to hand it to me when he said, "You'll ruin your gloves."  
  
My brand-new silk opera gloves that cost fifty bucks. "These old things?" I laughed. "Not a problem. They're washable." We looked at each other. He looked away first. "Give me that." I took the tube of lotion and squeezed some onto my hand. "Sit down." He sat on the toilet seat.  
  
I started at the base of his neck and swept my hands across his shoulders. I could feel him tense as I touched him and I knew it wasn't fear. It was all I could do not to dance with joy.   
  
I continued to rub lotion onto those fading lines, down his spinal column to the small of his back and then up and over his shoulders. I got bolder as I did it, taking more time than was actually necessary, and letting my fingers stray over the tops of his shoulders onto his chest. He practically purred.  
  
*I* made Logan purr, just by stroking his back. I felt incredibly turned on and powerful.  
  
When I slid my hands around his stomach and moved toward the waistband of his jeans, he grabbed my hands abruptly. "That's enough, Marie," he said hoarsely.  
  
I wiped my hands on a towel and then leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Are we going after the bastards who did this to you?" I asked.  
  
"No, *we* are not, Marie. Chuck and I will take care of it, with the X-Men, when the time comes."  
  
"I'm going to be on the team soon, Logan..." I stopped when I got a good look at his face. He was tired, I could tell. He's not used to being injured for any period of time -- they must have practically flayed him to leave scars for so long. "I understand now why you couldn't make my birthday," I whispered, leaning my cheek against the top of his head, and pressing his face to my chest. His arms wrapped around me and he gave me a hug. I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.  
  
"I'm sorry about that, kid. I really wanted to be here." I could feel his breath on my chest, his lips brushing my breast. I thought my knees would buckle, but I managed to remain standing by grabbing onto the sink as he suddenly let me go. He got up. "I got your present around here somewhere." He walked back into the bedroom and started rummaging through the drawers. I followed.  
  
"That's okay," I started, but he came up with a small velvet pouch.  
  
"Sorry I didn't get a chance to wrap it," he mumbled and if it had been anyone else I'd say he sounded shy, but this is Logan -- *Wolverine* -- we're talking about, so I must have been mistaken. "But I hope you like it. It made me think of you when I saw it."  
  
Oh, God, he was thinking of me when he was away. I undid the drawstring and poured a gold and ruby bracelet into my hand. He was thinking of me and buying me *jewelry* when he was away. "It's so beautiful, Logan. I've never had anything so beautiful before. Thank you so much." There were tears in my eyes. He looked away, embarrassed, but I hugged him again, and he responded. "Help me put it on."  
  
I held out my hand and he did as I asked, securing the clasp and then kissing my hand. "Does it meet with my lady's approval?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes," I breathed, loving the feel of its weight on my arm, more because it was from him than because of how lovely it was.  
  
"Go on, get out of here," he said gruffly. "Show off to all your friends." I hugged him one last time for good measure, and then did as he said.  
  
My acceptance letter from _The Spoon River Anthology_ lay on Logan's bed, forgotten.  
  
***  
  
I got pieces of the story from various people, and apparently what happened was this. He'd been doing some groundwork for Xavier, making contact with other groups of like-minded mutants, when Mystique had poisoned him with some sort of paralytic -- so much of it that even his healing factor was overwhelmed at first. Then she and Sabretooth had tortured him for information about the names and whereabouts of Xavier's contacts. They'd done a number on him before he recovered enough to escape, and he was still healing. That's why he'd missed my birthday -- he *had* been hurt. And why he was spending so much time with the Professor -- Xavier was trying to learn more about the Brotherhood's plan.  
  
I wanted to tell Scott the whole thing that night, but somehow or another I got distracted. I wanted to let him know about the change in objectives for The Plan, but I didn't know if he'd go along with it.  
  
The next morning, I had just taken a shower and was standing in my bathroom combing the tangles out of my hair when Scott burst in.  
  
Normally, that wouldn't be a big deal. I hardly ever locked the door to my room, and he was in and out all the time, especially often since The Plan went into effect. However, I was wearing nothing but a towel. I shrieked.  
  
"What the hell are you doing in here?"  
  
He reached out hands to grab me and noticed my bare skin just in time. He dropped his hands to his sides and said, "I've made a decision. I'm going to tell Jean we're setting a date. That's it -- no more fooling around."  
  
Clutching my towel, I responded, "That's great, Scott. Is there some reason you couldn't wait until I was done in the bathroom?"  
  
He ignored me. Sigh. "This is what I'm going to say." Of course, he had a speech prepared. "'Jean, we've been together for the past ten years, and we've been engaged for the last two. We're getting married in the next six months if it kills us. I don't care if the world is ending -- I love you and I want to call you my wife. So pick a date already.'  
  
"What do you think? Will she go for it? I've been rehearsing all morning."  
  
"It won't win any awards," I said. "But yes, she'll go for it. No, you won't remember it when the time comes to tell her, and damn, it's about time you took control."  
  
He started fidgeting. My bathroom is not that large and he was getting on my nerves. "Are you sure? I don't want to sound too demanding."  
  
I sighed. "Yes, Scott, I'm sure. Now go tell her and let me put some clothes on."  
  
"Or should I offer her some dates as options? Do you have a calendar handy?" He was like a little kid who wanted a new toy. He couldn't think of anything but his own situation at the moment.  
  
"I'm *naked*, Scott," I said, letting my exasperation show. "And I'm starting to get a little chilly. I don't have anything handy right now. Why don't you go talk to Jean so I can get dressed?"  
  
"What? Oh, yeah, right." He looked me up and down and blushed. "Sorry." He started backing up. "We'll talk about this later." And banged right into Logan, who growled at him. He grinned, I think he winked at me, and left.  
  
Bastard.  
  
Logan's voice was a low snarl. "What the fuck is One-Eye doin' in here while you're naked?"  
  
"He wanted to tell me he and Jean are going to set a date. What the fuck are *you* doin' in here while I'm naked?" Coldness was not a problem anymore. I could feel my heart race and my breathing speed up.  
  
"Marie! Language!" I stuck my tongue out at him. I guess it took a moment for what I'd said to sink in, because suddenly he said, "He and Jean--" he stopped. "That dick. He strings you along and then drops this on you--"  
  
I laughed. I had to. "No, no, no," I said, holding up a hand. "It's not like that, Logan. I knew, I knew what he was doing. I was helping him do it. He was trying to make her jealous. I was never falling for him. Never."  
  
Logan was prepared. His gloved hands grabbed my shoulders. "Are you sure?"  
  
I took a deep breath and Logan's gaze fell to my chest. I'd forgotten I was wearing nothing but a towel. I blushed and decided to lay all my cards on the table. I looked him right in the eye. "There's never been anyone for me but you," I whispered. "I love you, Logan." My voice was stronger now. "I want to be with you."  
  
"Marie," he whispered, running his hands up and down my bare arms. My shivering this time was *not* from the cold. He stroked my hair and cupped my cheek. "I--" With a growl he pulled me into his arms, his hands grabbing my ass and fitting me against his hips. Oh yeah, he wanted me, too. Now the question was, did he love me? I looked up at him, holding my breath, waiting. Say it, I thought, please say it. He swallowed and said, "I love you too, Marie." And then he pressed my head against his chest and ran his hands over my back. I was a little teary. "Damn towel," he muttered, sliding his hands over the tops of my breasts. I gasped as the towel came away.  
  
"Logan!"  
  
He was busy running his hands over my body. The feel of his gloves against my skin was doing all sorts of interesting things to my insides. I felt like I was going to melt.  
  
He released me for a moment and I could feel the chill in the bathroom. The heat from my shower had long since dissipated. He picked up my nightgown -- a silly, thin, cotton thing with teddy bears all over it -- and laid it across my lips, kissing me. At first he was gentle, but his lips soon became urgent, demanding, and I was all too willing to give in.  
  
Before we got carried away altogether, though, I said, "Logan, the door's wide open. Anyone could walk in."  
  
"Then we'll give 'em a show, darlin'," he rumbled, grinning wickedly. But he went and locked the door to my room.  
  
And then things got really interesting. Through the nightie, and then the sheet, he feathered kisses all over my body. Since he was dressed, I could run my hands all over him without fear.  
  
After we were done, lying boneless and satisfied on my bed, I asked, "Was there a reason you came to see me?"  
  
"Oh, yeah." He shifted slightly and pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket. "You left this in my room. Congratulations, Marie. You're going to be published."  
  
I giggled. "I'm so happy." I had everything I ever wanted, right there in that bed. Logan, and the acceptance letter. I thought it couldn't get any better than that, but I was wrong.  
  
Logan and I have been together for six months now. I love him more every day and I know he loves me. I haven't been able to get anything else published anywhere, but Logan bought a dozen copies of the magazine that my poem appeared in. Plus, since I've graduated, I'm now a full-fledged member of the team.  
  
Tomorrow, Jean and Scott are finally getting married.  
  
I'd like to think that everything would have worked out eventually anyway, but every once in a while, Scott and I look at each other and I thank God for his friendship, and his Plan.  
  
And I won our bet. Scott washed my car for a week.  
  
~~~End~~~  
  
  



End file.
